


B/J Smut

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-16
Updated: 2005-06-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: An experiment with a "progressive drabble"...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

_Author's Notes: This is an experiment I've been playing with for the last few days. It's pure B/J smut for the sake of smut, but it's not yet complete. I call this style a "progressive drabble". It alternates POV and starts with one character (in this case, Justin) getting 100 words in the classic drabble style. The POV then shifts to Brian, who gets 200 words, then back to Justin for 300 words, etc._

* * *

**Justin**   
_"I look into your eyes and I am at the center of the sun..."_

It starts where it often does, on the dance floor of Babylon. When I dance, I lose track of everything except the music, the sweaty bodies moving around me, and his hands skimming my flesh. It makes him hot to watch me, so I let myself go when I know he's near me. I touch myself, swipe my hands through my hair, over my chest, down my hips, all to see the glazed, needy expression in Brian's eyes. That look, the way his mouth falls open because he's panting just watching me move for him, that's my drug, my E.

**Brian**   
_"Sunshine burns my fortress down, crumbling to the ground..."_

His shirt is off, flung into the crowd somewhere. He's lost more clothes here than he's worn out, but I just keep replacing them for him and fuck the cost, because Justin dancing half naked, the colored lights strobing across his body, makes me lose control.

His eyes open, and a grin spreads across his face, making my pulse thump. I lick my lips slowly, giving him a good show, and his smile changes, intensifies, becomes a fire that rushes straight to my dick.

I wrap my arms around his slim hips and yank him towards me, laying claim to him. He tumbles off-balance but I catch him, and while I can't hear his moan, I can tell by the shape of his mouth and the flush in his cheeks that he wants more. He'll get it, but on my schedule. The little twat's been teasing me all night, dancing for me, touching himself, brushing against me all innocent and angelic. Yeah, right. Fucking angel my ass.

I trace my thumb across his jaw and push it between his glistening lips, giving him a focus for that slutty little tongue that's been enticing me for hours. 

It's almost time.

**Justin**

I love his arms. If I wasn't always so busy worshipping his cock, his arms would be next on my list of Brian Kinney Body Parts Deserving Hosannas. I've sketched them, painted them, traced them with my finger tips, my tongue and on one memorable occasion, my dick. Brian's legs are strong and his thighs are pretty to look at, but it's the upper body strength he loves to train and I'm the beneficiary. Sculpted; he's absolutely perfectly sculpted. His deltoids are huge and beautifully rounded, and when he lays above me, supporting his weight on his arms, staring down at me as we fuck, his triceps stand out as long, taut ribbons that just beg to be massaged, stroked. 

But despite how much I cherish his arms, I always seem to forget just how strong they are until he does _that_ \- pulls me off my feet, my toes barely skimming the dance floor, and crushes me to him in one fluid movement. 

The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh and my cock turns to granite in my pants. 

I fucking crave being taken by him. I mean, it invades my sleep in the form of erotic images flashing behind my eyelids and even dominates many of my daydreams, too. When he uses his superior size, strength and height to overpower me I feel like a damsel in one of those hokey old movies: possessed, _owned_ , and I know I should probably fight that, but I love it. And he gets off on how much I love it.

I suck and nip his thumb, a preview of everything I have to offer him. I'm showing off and he knows it, but he knows that while it's for him, it's also to show everyone around us how totally _his_ I am.

**Brian**

The sight of my thumb disappearing and reappearing between those pouty pink lips is fucking spellbinding. My dick twitches in time to my heartbeat and I know he can feel it pressing into his abdomen because he smiles around my thumb, his eyes locked on mine. Cheeky bastard. 

I pull my thumb out of his mouth and he darts forward, his tongue immediately finding the tender skin in the hollow above my breastbone. He works it lightly, licking, nibbling and sucking, still teasing me. I know that its there where, on this thunderously loud dance floor, he doesn't have to hear my gasps because he can feel the vibration of pleasure rumbling through me.

He's grazing his cock against me as he sways to the music, and knowing that he's doing it to drive me crazy decides me. I lift him off his feet in a bear hug and carry him to the backroom. His arms are locked around my neck, his breath ragged in my ear, but the rest of him feels boneless, as if he's gone limp from the sheer act of being held. It's one of the ways I can be sure of sending him over the edge of reason and I love it when he's that far gone. Over _me_. 

He whimpers my name and the sound of his voice, the vulnerable, breathy trust in it, makes me feel indestructible. 

I let him slip out of my arms until his feet touch the floor and he grabs my hand tightly, drags me into a dark corner and shoves me against the wall. Even in this dim lighting, his blue eyes glow up at me, pupils dilated and inky black. I lose myself in them, in the pure animal lust they radiate.

Then my mouth is on his and I don't even remember leaning down into him. All I know is that those lips are mine to kiss. Mine to devour, taste, bite, lick, chew on, suck, _mine_ and no one else's. The concession that I gave him all those years ago to never kiss anyone but him is one of the best fucking deals I've ever made in my life.

My hands find the waistband of his pants and slide easily inside to grip his perfectly smooth cheeks. I knead them hard, knowing there will be bruises later, knowing that's what he wants. 

My little slut.

**Justin**

Fuck, it's hot in here, hot and close and humid with exhaled breath and sweat. The naked bodies around us, beautiful glistening skin, tight muscles, the moaning, sighing, coming, writhing, grasping mass surrounding us fades and becomes background music to our mutual seduction.

I want to rim him, it's all I can think about, my mouth waters in anticipation, but I don't know if he'll allow it like this, here, in Babylon. I moan into his mouth just thinking about it and grind my cock against him. I want him to know how hard he makes me, how none of the gorgeous bodies I could watch just by turning my head mean anything to me when compared with this, with him, with the taste of _him_.

I break our kiss, my teeth finding his upper lip, his cheek, his neck.

"Brian," I breathe to him, "I want something. I want it so much, fuck, I want it more than anything else right now. Please." 

I realize I'm already begging and he doesn't even know why, but I don't give a fuck. I love the heady, dizzy high of being out of control with Brian, _for_ him. He's the only one who can make me feel this way.

"What, Justin?" I'm sure he thinks he knows what I'm pleading for. I'm sure he assumes it has something to do with his cock up my ass and oh yes, _fuck_ , I want that, but not yet, it's too soon. "What do you want? _Tell me._ "

God, the way his hands grip me hard when he asks me, the rough feel of his 5 o'clock shadow scouring my cheek, it makes my stomach flutter with need. He wants to know, it makes him so hot when I beg for something from him, and I want to find the exact right combination of words that will unlock the key to my tongue in his hole _now_.

He crushes me to him again, his cock a steel demand in my stomach.

"Tell me, Justin," he groans in my ear, " _tell_ me."

Fucking hell, he's almost begging.

"I want to show all these jealous queers back here that I belong to you," I lick his earlobe and feel him shiver, turning his head into me, "that no one can have me the way you do and that they'll never get the devotion you get from me."

"I don't give a fuck what they think," he growls. "Turn around."

"No," I want this so damned much, " _you_ turn around."

"Justin," he shakes his head as if to clear it and grins ferally at me, all teeth and danger, "if you think I'm gonna let you fuck me in the backroom of Babylon, you've lost your fucking mind."

"Brian," I say in his ear, using the sexy, petulant voice I know he finds nearly impossible to say no to, "that's not what I'm asking."

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

"I want to tongue fuck your ass, Brian."

**Brian**

How can I hide the way that one sentence goes straight to my dick when all the blood is rushing _away_ from my brain right now? The little twat has me spinning, and I'm about to break another one of my rules, just so I can hear that voice, take that ass, taste that mouth. And yeah, I'm seriously impressed by how good he is at it, too.

He's gonna have to work for it, though.

I kiss his lips softly, trying to cool things down before we both spontaneously combust.

"Convince me," I assert, rubbing my forehead along his damp cheek. I feel a groan of frustration and excitement pass through his body and it feeds me, makes me feel powerful, ravenous. One of these days I'll tell the little fucker how much I love him. But tonight it's all about heat.

He goes to work with his tongue and hands. His fingers deftly unbutton my shirt while his lips trace each square inch of flesh he reveals. His panting breath tickles repeatedly along the wet trails he makes on my skin, soft guttural moans escaping him, until he takes my right nipple into his mouth.

Christ. Did I say he's good with his tongue? He's pretty fucking fantastic with his teeth too, and he uses one of the secrets he knows about me to his advantage- as sensitive as my nipples are, the fastest way to drive me out of my mind is to get rough with them. I don't understand it, but when he bites them, hurts them just right, I could almost come. That's something no trick has ever had the chance to learn. There are other things too, things that only he knows.

Like how much I love his tongue in my ass.

I arch into his mouth when he nips a little too hard, and bark his name loudly, but he knows not to quit; my hand is at the back of his neck, holding him in place.

"Fuck, _Justin_ , fuck, oh fuck," I can't stop muttering it into his hair and he must love hearing it, this proof that I'm as much his as he is mine. Belonging to someone has always scared the shit out of me, but this is bliss. I'd like to kill him for making me want him this much. But then I'd miss out on _this_.

"Other one now," I moan softly, moving his head with both hands. He's eager to comply, he wants his reward, and as his tongue slides across my chest, his hands start unbuttoning my jeans. He already senses he's going to win this round, and I'm too far gone to keep up the fucking guessing game.

When his teeth begin snacking on my other nipple, I dig my hands into his hair, my fingers flexing convulsively. 

"Harder!" I order quietly. His palm slides into my pants, skimming along the underside of my cock as he obeys. I buck against him, biting savagely into my bottom lip to keep from shouting.

He sees his chance, knows how hot I am for him right now, and drops immediately to his knees to yank my jeans down my thighs. His tongue, like a little miracle sent from above just for me, never stops moving, and then he uses yet another of my secrets against me. 

I'm fucking ticklish.

The tip of his tongue dances across my groin, dipping into even the tiniest hollows, causing me to twitch and writhe.

"Fuck!" I turn and face the wall in defeat. In victory. "Do it, Justin!"

Now he's laughing.

**Justin**

Fucking Brian off and on all these years has given me a distinct advantage- I know all his hot buttons. 

I can't help smiling a little at how quickly he succumbs, but my ego trip is short-lived when confronted with the sight of Brian's spectacular ass mere inches from my tongue. And right here in the backroom. 

I look up at his long taut body stretching above me and I think I might even be smacking my lips in anticipation, but this is a first for both of us and I don't intend to rush through it.

I slide his jeans the rest of the way off and leave them in a heap between my knees. When this is over and he's ready to continue our games at home, he'll want to have fast access to them.

"Lean into the wall," I tell him softly, not wanting to be overheard. Being watched is hot as fuck, we both crave it because there's some kind of unique fire burning between us that draws every eye to us and we love to show it off, but even I'm not stupid enough to believe I'll ever be allowed to rim him in public again if I humiliate him by issuing orders in front of all these fags.

He nods silently and folds his arms against the wall in front of him, laying his forehead comfortably on them. Satisfied, I grip his ankles gently, exerting only the slightest outward pressure to let him know I want him to spread his legs for me. He resists for a moment- he wouldn't be Brian Kinney if he didn't- but then he complies willingly, locking his knees and pushing out his bottom. 

I know he's grinning as I emit a gasp at the sight of his tan, honed muscles gleaming in the dim lighting with a light sheen of sweat. I'm a slut, he taught me himself how to be a damned good one, but he is, too, and I know that secretly he loves to open himself up like this for me.

I run my hands up his calves, feeling his muscles jump under my touch, and linger over the backs of his knees with slow tickling brushes of my nails. He grunts above me and I lean in to tongue the sensitive skin there. 

"Justin," he complains, his voice harsh and throaty, but this is my show and I'm taking it at my own speed. I love when he's frustrated and overcome and I'll draw it out as long as I can. It will guarantee a long hard fuck at the end of the night that will turn me inside out and have him babbling in my ear all the things he longs to say to me but doesn't, in the light of day.

My hands make their slow, methodical way up the backs of his thighs, my tongue following, until I reach the sweet spot- the narrow expanse of flesh at the tops of his thighs. I love licking here, brushing my lips so lightly back and forth across the space between his bottom and his legs that he can only feel me as something like a whisper. It always makes him shudder.

I let my tongue follow the natural groove towards the insides of his thighs, and he shifts again, spreading his legs more, inviting me closer. I lap my way to his perineum, absorbing his soft moans and mutterings as if they were necessary oxygen. 

He wiggles his bottom at me so slightly that only I would notice, but the signal is clear: _get on with it_. I chuckle under my breath, letting my tongue play behind his balls, tasting his strong, heady flavor.

He can't wait any longer. One hand slips from under his head and finds it's way to his muscled ass cheek. He pushes his ass out with an aggressive growl and spreads his bottom open for me. Suddenly, I find that I can't wait another moment, either, and I trace my tongue slowly up the split of his ass, pausing briefly to huff warm air over his hole.

He gasps loudly and I know I have him now.


	2. B/J Smut

_Author's Notes: This is the next little installment in my BJ!smut progressive drabble experiment. We pick up the action in the backroom of Babylon with Brian, who gets 800 words. You can **[Read read the first part here](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=msjudi&itemid=39553)** and **[the second part here.](http://www.livejournal.com/users/msjudi/39792.html)**_

* * *

It's not the first time his tongue has been in my ass and if I have anything to say about it, it won't fucking be the last, either.

I know that rimming isn't about a power exchange, or if it is, I know a lot of queers who feel that the one doing the rimming is in the submissive position, but intimacy like this is always hard for me, even with Justin, and particularly in public. I trust _him_. It's all these other fags I have my doubts about.

Yet here I am, giving in to him and letting everyone witness the power this former twink has over me. And all because he's so adept at making me want to, so completely proficient at short-circuiting all my defenses with not much more than a pout and a long, slow blink. Well, that. And other reasons.

_Fuck._

His tongue plays games with my nerve endings until I sink into the wall, wanting to take it for as long as he gives it. I know we're being watched, that _he's_ being watched with covetous eyes and that I'm also being watched with burning envy and yeah, it ratchets up the heat in my belly a few notches. Justin knew it would, too.

I gasp quietly at the slow, almost tender lapping of his tongue, and try hard not to squirm. Thinking is almost impossible as he pushes me into a realm of pure sensation. I note the men near us, their bodies slick and gleaming, their stuttered moans and low shouts, that sensational awareness of rank animal _fucking_ going on all around Justin and I. There's wetness, and his hands on my hips, and the cold of the cinderblocks under my forearms, and his harsh breath tickling my skin, and the sounds and smells of masculinity, come and sweat, and all of it, but mostly his incredibly perfect mouth, transport me. 

Enough of this kind of attention and I could come without hardly touching myself, but he's not even trying to get me there, right now, he's just playing with me, his tongue barely penetrating me, just a slow tease designed to make me crazy. 

I know him. I know this is his plan, and I know that he revels in this power over me, the power no one else has ever shared. The little fuck. If it wasn't so mind-blowing, him on his knees in this dark, dank place, his tongue playing tricks with my head, I'd swat him down a peg or two. But who the fuck cares when it feels this carnal and nasty?

I snake my hand back again, find his head, run my hands over and into his hair, tugging on the soft strands when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. My dick is leaking now, aching to be stroked, but I'll wait, drawing out the moment, until my hips finally begin to rock into his mouth. He gets the signal, like he always does with me, reads my body and demands with an unsettling ease, and pushes his tongue into me in short, firm stabbing motions. 

_Fucking Christ!_

"Justin." 

I'm barely aware that I've spoken, but even over the noise of the backroom and the faint thumping of the music coming from the dance floor, I hear him, his satisfied groan at getting me to say his name. It's out of my mouth again before I can call it back and I suddenly don't give a fuck who hears.

"Justin!"

I'm panting now and I ignore the plaintive crack in my voice and whether or not I'm being loud enough to draw attention for it, and bark a loud order in his direction.

"Reach around. Jerk me off, Justin."

He moans again, I feel the breath of it against my hole, feel the vibration through his lips and tongue, and when he touches my dick, I nearly shoot into his hand.

"Fuck, yeah!" 

His grip is strong and calloused, all those hours spent drawing and carrying trays in the diner taking their toll on his soft skin, and somehow the scrape of his palm against me sends a dual signal of pain and pleasure to my brain that sizzles any defensive mechanisms I might have left.

I buck repeatedly into his fingers, pressing my mouth into my arms to stifle the moans that won't stop, and grip the back of his head hard to let him know that if he stops, I'll fucking kill him.

He doesn't even slow, though. He knows I want to come, he wants to make me come, and I love that _he_ loves it so much. Knowing he's getting off on this nearly as much as I am is my undoing. 

Shouting incoherently, I fill his palm with my warm come.


End file.
